Dissimulation
by Dorminchu
Summary: Some secrets don't keep well. Two-shot. T for Hitch's language.
1. Hitch

Annie Leonhardt was the first and last of the new Military Police members to come directly from the depths of hell that was Trost. Hitch's initial impression of the girl was less than favorable; her opinion was only reinforced during the first week on the job. It was quickly established that Annie was not, by any means, remotely sociable. She seldom talked to her (or anyone else, really), and when she did respond, it was more often than not in the form of a curt, monosyllabic answer.

Hitch had since adopted the private opinion that her new roommate was either incapable of holding simple conversation, or else just as indifferent as their officers.

Despite this discouraging start, Hitch found herself growing fond of the girl, much in the same way one grew accustomed to that particular way a family portrait hung on the wall. Annie meanwhile, remained cold and distant.

Their first real conversation occurred on the morning of the Scouting Regiment's 57th Expedition.

Annie was sitting on her bunk, fully dressed and impassive as always. Hitch walked across their room to the bedside table, clad in an undershirt and pants. The fabric clung to her skin, still slightly damp from the shower.

"Hitch."

Hitch felt the cold atmosphere in the air thin between them. Or perhaps she was just drying off. She remained quiet for a while, utterly bemused that Annie Leonhardt had actually addressed her. When she felt the satisfaction had sunk in long enough, she turned, grinning slyly.

"About time you learned how to talk."

Annie ignored her.

"I don't suppose it would be too much to request a favor of you?"

Hitch snorted, sorting through a few sets of civilian wear. "Nah. You don't bother me, I don't bother you, so we're even s'far as I'm concerned."

"Then would you report me as sick tomorrow?" Hitch raised her eyebrows, shirt halfway down her body.

"If you've got something to do, you could just take care of it now. We've got the day off for a reason, you know."

"I'd prefer to wait." Hitch allowed herself another pause.

"Suit yourself. You fancy making yourself useful?" Hitch took a sheet of paper from her dresser and held it out to her. "Karoline Stratmann. She's been missing for a while now." She shrugged. "I expect you'd get more out of it than I would. Favor for a favor." As Hitch straightened the last of her outfit, she heard the creak of the bed and footsteps. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Annie pass through the doorway. Unable to contain her burning curiosity she blurted: "Who is it, then?"

Annie paused.

"You have business." Hitch elucidated. "Who are you meeting?" Annie glanced back at her, a faint smirk on her face.

"A fifteen-meter class Titan."

Hitch held a pause for the third and longest time that morning. Then she laughed.

"Well, I didn't know you could joke! Not a very good joke, but–" She turned.

Annie was already gone.

The day passed without much thought. It ended much the same as usual; Annie returned to the dorm, having succeeded in the assignment given to her.

The next day, Hitch wrote her down as ill, as per request. She did not see the girl throughout the entire day, and, as night descended and a terrific storm brewed, slept restlessly.

* * *

Hitch woke a few hours later to the sound of an incessant rapping on the window. Wearily she blinked, rose, and stumbled her way to the windowsill.

She looked outside to see sheets of frigid rain coming down in waves. A flash of lightning and a clap of thunder illuminated the lone figure parting the torrent. Hitch regarded this figure for a moment through the bleary eyes of half-consciousness, then realization struck her. She wrenched the window open.

"Where the hell have you been?" She hissed. "For God's sake, Annie, it's two in the morning!" Annie did not address her. In fact, she did not look up, but drew her water-logged cloak tighter about herself and stepped into the room. Fuming, Hitch leant around her returning roommate and slammed the window shut to stifle the howling wind and rain. "Honestly," she muttered, "if I'd known you were going to be _this_ much trouble, I would have asked for another roommate. I mean―" Hitch turned, watching her gradual and oddly stiff progression to her own bed. "―you might as well have told me you were..." She faltered as Annie swayed on the spot before her.

And then she collapsed with a wet, muted _thump_.

"Shit!" Hitch rushed over to her. "Uh, Annie?"

Annie didn't respond. Swearing under her breath, Hitch lifted the unconscious girl under her arms and hauled her onto the bed. She fumbled with the clasps of her water-logged cloak for a few seconds before it came loose, and she was able to extricate the girl.

Annie's uniform was torn and burnt in multiple places. Her exposed skin was raw, and covered in a thin, unidentifiable film. When she made to remove her tattered clothes, Annie made a sharp, pained noise, and Hitch decided to leave it be for the moment. Even more strange were the reddish, ridge-like markings marring the sides of her face, spanning down her neck and shoulders.

_Great. I guess _you're_ my responsibility now._

With a half-glance back at the door, Hitch laid a hand upon her forehead, only to immediately wrench her hand back with a yelp of pain.

"Ow-shit!" She stared in confusion at the girl before her.

"What...?" Her fingers stung pink where they had touched her brow, and her mind was buzzing. An idea clicked into place.

_Going to need more towels._

She stood up, clutching her smarting hand and headed for the bathroom. Upon her return, she found Annie mumbling incoherently. She sounded terrified. Hitch was more than a little unnerved now, but she placed the towel and bucket of cold water down, then dragged the chair from the dresser over to the bed. Without much pause, she took one of the towels, immersed it within in the cold water and placed it upon the other girl's forehead. It steamed as it made contact with her fevered skin, and Annie made another, unintelligible sound.

"Hey. It's...it's alright." She muttered lamely, unsure of what she was supposed to say. Inside, she thought: _What _are _you?_

Hitch placed a hand upon her shoulder in an awkward attempt at reassurance.

"F-Fath...uhh." Annie moaned feebly. Hitch stared at her.

"What?"

The girl trembled.

"M-Mis...I failed the miss..." She curled into herself with a whimper. "Can't...I _can't_ com'back..." Hitch continued to stare at her, curiosity overtaking discomfort.

"Uh..._why_ can't you, uh, come back?"

"I...I failed." She gave a small, pathetic snort. "...M'sorry, Father."

Hitch lifted her hand from her shoulder, feeling uneasy. The girl before her did not at all resemble the cold, impassionate girl she knew, wracked with quiet sobs, mumbling apologies to a father that could not hear her. _Does she think __I'm_ _her father or something?_

"H-hey. It's...it's alright now. You don't have to apologise." She took her hand on the pretense of checking her pulse, but Annie gripped it tightly and would not let go. With a sigh of weary acceptance, Hitch sat back.

"I can't _believe_ I'm doing this." She muttered, more to the window than anything.

For two hours, the fever persisted. Hitch wondered if a doctor would believe her story. But the pain in her seared hand was all she had to remind herself she wasn't dreaming. Eventually, Annie fell asleep, and so did Hitch.

* * *

The morning afterwards, Hitch awoke to find that Annie had released her hand. Stifling a yawn, she got up and shuffled out the door with a request in mind.

When she came back, Annie was awake and sitting up, head bowed.

"Ahah, you're alive after all!" Hitch exclaimed, a little too cheerful as she made her way over to her. "I took the liberty of reporting you as ill again, so you won't have to―"

"_Hitch_." Annie cut her off. "Did...did I say anything last night?" Her voice was quiet, raspy, but she looked at her in a way she had never done before. Caught off guard by this show of emotion, Hitch preoccupied herself by studying a cup on the bedside table before she answered.

"Nothing I could make out." She smirked. "Though it _would've_ been funny if you said your boyfriend's name or something." The tension in Annie's shoulders eased.

"...Oh." She sat back. Hitch replaced the cup, and was about to leave the room when she heard a movement, then a sharp hiss of pain. She turned in alarm; Annie had succeeded in casting aside the bloody linen, and was now in the process of raising her legs over the bed, teeth gritted.

Hitch was no doctor, but in the light of the late morning it was hard to ignore the way her tattered uniform stuck to her body, caked with dry gore and the same, unidentifiable substance. Her legs were still burnt and slightly swollen. Hitch tried to roll her eyes, but could only gawk at her struggling roommate.

"You're trying to get up already? I put you down as sick for a _reason_, you know―"

Annie held up a hand to silence her.

"Thanks, Hitch. I appreciate it. But if you don't mind―" She leant forward, gradually testing her weight and wincing again, "―I'd like to be alone now."

Hitch, meanwhile, found herself at a complete loss for words as the other girl grimaced, then slowly rose on unsteady legs and quickly gripped the side of the bed, cursing; she looked even more emaciated than she had last night. Eventually, she realized Annie was watching her as if waiting for her to leave and quickly recovered.

"Uh...s-sure. Call me if you need anything, alright?" Annie nodded stiffly. Hitch turned, in total preparation to leave this time, when she looked back.

Her back was visible and she could see a few stains where blood had congealed, then dried beneath her body.

But she left as requested, unsure what to think, but quite sure that whatever these events meant, it would be in both of their best interests to keep this quiet. Thus, she requested that she would be allowed to bring her ill roommate all the necessary provisions. This appeal was met with a joke about her reliability, but was granted, nevertheless.

When she returned to their dorm, she headed first towards the bed, with the mind to remove the bloodied linen. Upon touching the sheets, she noted they were quite warm, as if Annie still occupied the bed. With a noise of disgust, she balled them up into a heap and left it by the bathroom door, then, with an exaggerated sigh, she traipsed back to the little chair she'd pulled up the night before and sank into it.

_What are you afraid of?_

She knew there was no way she would be getting an answer.

Then again, perhaps it was better this way.

* * *

_A/N: The picture for the cover, as well as a big part of my inspiration for writing this story can be found in this translated comic, HERE (remove the periods!): h.t.t.p.:././.p.l.a.i.n.-.d.u.d.e...t.u.m.b.l.r.c.o.m./.p.o.s.t./.91643922683/burning-fingers-hitch-annie_

_The rest came from my own headcanons and the Visual Novel, "Goodbye Wall Sina". That Tumblr link also has a partial translation of that. I'd recommend checking it out!_


	2. Annie

_Victory was sweeter than she could have fathomed. Her Titan's tongue folded and kept Eren there and safe. His blood flooded over the cavern of her mouth but it did not concern her; soon he would heal._

_She straightened up. And who else should appear right in front of her, bursting out of the foliage at that very moment, but Mikasa Ackerman. For once, the other girl was paralyzed with incomprehension and sick, brutal fear, and she could do nothing for it. Ironic, how she froze and stared into the eyes of the beast that had, at last, laid claim to her brother. Annie's Titan stared back, impassive as its master. It wiped its mouth of blood and saliva and turned away._

_She had only been running for a minute or two when the first blade cut her. A shallow wound, followed in quick succession by more. All over her body, and they kept coming like the tiny white scratches of wild trees. Annie was not a fool. Quick to admit that Mikasa Ackerman's capabilities in the heat of battle were a few steps above many soldiers when it came to precision and speed and skill. But she had no discipline, no control. There was nothing but emotion guiding her hand. She was, in many ways, exactly like her brother._

_And that was why she would lose this battle._

_"GIVE HIM BACK!" Mikasa roared, and her blades sank deep into her Titan's calves._

_Annie fell to crouch on her feet, then knees. Sliding along the earth, but she was always a step ahead, always first to defend herself, so when Mikasa came swooping in, when she swung down with her weapons, Annie's hands turned to crystal around the nape of her neck. The blades connected, then shattered with a sweet, high note, ringing through the air and shadows. Slowly, it faded. Ackerman cursed her. Annie watched out of the corner of her eyes whilst she departed, latching onto a tree with her maneuver gear. She was shouting again, but whatever words Annie could decipher were comprised of vengeance-driven nonsense._

_Within the safety of her shell, Annie was smirking. Ackerman was a fool to allow her time to reciprocate; and she tired of the other girl's idiocy faster than she finished healing, struck out at the tiny thing as one might swat at a fly._

_Then Annie was running again, running with her prize clamped firmly within her Titan's jaws. Her heart was racing and her spirits hovered with cautious optimism. She could get away. She would get away._

_So it seemed. Ackerman brought another with her. Captain Levi._

_Failure came when she tired. Failure swooped in upon her weary form and cut her Titan down faster than blinking. Failure was the enemy, ripping Eren Jaeger away from her desperate embrace._

_And in that instant before the blades sliced her jaw and she was done, Annie wished, as she had never wished for anything, anyone, that she could only save her quarry. Wished, like a child, that perhaps if she was to die alongside her companions, a traitor to humanity, that at least Eren could be allowed to know the truth that the world had kept from him for so long, and perhaps then she wouldn't have to kill him._

_Perhaps._

_But of course she could not. The world was not fair, and it did not take kindly to her desires, her fancies. And so it was that Captain Levi ripped her apart and stole him away, and left her to die a soldier's death._

.

.

.

_Annie rose from the mass of steam and blood and found herself alone. Her heart was thudding violently in her ears. She was sluggish. She tore herself free of the meat clinging to her, rose to her knees. Her lungs were raw and her breath was shaking and there was a heavy constriction in her throat. Panting, she looked down and saw more blood and the ruined shell of her Titan. She remembered the fight. Remembered her failure. She blinked slowly, staring down at her own hands. Skin burnt, clothes singed and tattered, the stolen green cloak clinging to her body, drenched with scarlet and residue._

_Breath was sudden agony. She was shaking and did not understand why. Something, some dark and silent part of her, kept secret for so many years, hidden deep in the crevices of her cold and broken heart, fractured. And her pride cracked, drifted apart like the melting ice in spring._

_She was alone._

_Annie closed her eyes, opened them. Breathing evenly. Controlled. She would have to Shift again and she was already so tired of running. But she could do this. She was still young, still strong. She was a Warrior._

_She had failed._

_Her face twisted. She bowed her head, clutched her blood-sticky scalp in her hands and lifted her face to the heavens and _screamed_._

_It came out violent, wordless, a harsh and wretched sound exploding from her vocal chords. She reared back, drove her shaking fist against her Titan's disintegrating body and broke through the vulnerable flesh with ease. She let herself crumple into its dead embrace. And she wept. Allowed herself the privilege of emotion for the first time in living memory, wrought with shame. Her hand was burning, bleeding inside the Titan's carcass. She did not care._

Father_, she thought, overwhelmed with anguish. _Please, forgive me.

_How easy it would be to die. How pathetic. Effortless, virtually painless. Let the Titans come to her and devour her tiny, defenceless body and no one would know, no one would ever miss her. What had she to lose? Mina was gone, Eren was gone, and Reiner and Bertholdt could get on well enough without her. And as for her father...it was anyone's guess as to what had become of him. _

_Except that wasn't true, was it. Her father needed her, still, because she had promised him she would come home, and Bertholdt and Reiner needed her because they were weak-willed and unsure of themselves, and even Eren, foolish, hopeful boy that he was, needed her to find him because he was the last thing standing between freedom and certain death at the hands of their government. It was as simple as that._

_There was work to be done, and she would see it finished. With this thought fresh in mind, Annie now made it her priority to regain order of herself. The process was not, as many were likely to assume, as simple as flicking a switch. It was achieved in sections. She cut herself out from the rest of the world and all its stimuli, gradually stopped shaking, stopped weeping, dismayed all thoughts but those of returning back to Hitch's room, and how she might recuperate, redouble her efforts. She focused on this and this alone, until she was utterly still, silent. No longer impassive, but hollow, rife with resolve. _

_Annie rose to her feet, silent and steady—she would not need her ring; she was already bleeding—and prepared to make the jump._

.

.

.

Hitch departed, leaving Annie with her injuries and thoughts. She watched the door close, waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded before forcing herself to her feet. Immediately her limbs screamed in protest. Annie grit her teeth and forced her weakened body to obey her. She staggered to the bathroom, almost collapsed upon the floor once or twice but recovered, opened the door and clambered along the entryway into the tiny bathroom. Once inside, she shut the door behind her, locked it, and discarded her tattered cloak and gear by the closed door with a muffled clattering of metal on cloth and wood, unsteady on her feet from the sudden loss of weight. The floor would surely be tarnished, but she did not care. Her legs quickly gave and she sank back against the wall for support, cursing.

Upon attempting to remove the rest of her clothing, she was met with resistance, then sharp pain. It occurred to her that her clothes must have stuck to her healing body, melding with her flesh during the night. Her spirits, already dampened from the catastrophe of the previous evening, now sank a level further. This was not going to be easy. But when in this life had anyone ever promised her that it would be so?

She got the water going, resolved to get this over with quickly. Annie braced herself, stepped under the stream of water. It was with great difficulty that she remained silent, but froze at the rush of sensation, biting back her gasp of pain. Temporarily numb with shock, she resisted the temptation to slump back against the stall wall, instead letting the water sweep over her, eyes shut. The blood flowed from her clothes and her body incrementally, and she steeled herself for the waves of pain that would soon follow.

To hasten the process, Annie thought of other, pressing matters. She would, for example, most likely have to kill Hitch after everything that had happened. Another innocent. It was Marco Bodt all over again...or was it, after all? Hitch did not ask questions, did not even acknowledge that anything had been off this morning or the night before, but Annie had not been conscious for more than a minute after the return. Besides, what right-minded human would dare entertain the idea of normalcy, now, especially? The fact remained: Hitch could not be trusted.

Having dwelt upon her uncertainties long enough, Annie tested her shirt and found the resistance between saturated cloth and skin was easing. She stripped off the fabric without much trouble, managing to disguise her pained wheeze as a kind of cough. Her skin was raw, irritated, but not torn. Encouraged, she set to a proper wash, unyielding to the fresh sting that accompanied the touch, despite how her head was spinning, because it was nothing, nothing at all. There would be worse things. Annie had just extricated herself of the rest of her clothing before she realised she had no idea how she was going to kill her roommate.

And for a single, ludicrous moment, Annie didn't want to kill Hitch anymore. What was the point? Another death, more blood on her hands and inconvenient questions, not to mention the trouble of the actual killing, then hiding her body. And it was completely unnecessary; Hitch was simple in mind, easy to predict. But she had thought the same of Eren Jaeger, and look where that had gotten her.

Annie scowled to herself. Turned off the shower and watched the water drip onto the floor.

She would make her decision today, plain and simple. And then she could rest a little easier.

* * *

_A/N: And hence ends the tale! Nearly a year in the making, I can hardly believe it, but it's DONE! A hearty thank you to all you readers out there for sticking with me!_


End file.
